


Bad Company - A Fallout 4 Fan-Fiction

by JoeBass3122



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4, Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fallout (Video Games) Setting, Brotherhood of Steel (Fallout), Post-Apocalypse, Post-War, The Institute (Fallout), The Railroad (Fallout)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:14:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 15,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27145064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoeBass3122/pseuds/JoeBass3122
Summary: The Sole Survivor is dead, that much is certain.  Their story ends here, in failure, after a disappointingly short run.But yet...A new story begins,  the Sole Survivor is not quite the rare incident they thought they were. People are waking up in a world baptized by nuclear fire. Cassie Smith, a 23-year-old former soldier and neighbor to the Sole Survivor and their family, has also woken up in the now decrepit Vault 111.Beset by the challenges of the wasteland, Cassie must fight for survival in this new world and navigate the complex social environment in order to determine what her fate might be as the Second Survivor.A visit into the world of the popular game, Fallout 4, from the perspectives of the Second Survivor of Vault 111 and a misfit gang of outlaws, The Bad Company.
Comments: 13
Kudos: 9





	1. Prologue

It was the morning of the 31st of October 2077 and Cassie Smith had finally had it. That fucking salesman again with his fucking Vault pitch talking all fire and brimstone. She’d slammed the door in his face the first few times but she could swear it just made him more desperate each time so she’d settled on pretending she wasn’t home hoping that his enthusiasm would fizzle out, but it never did. The utter ridiculousness of hiding from a simple salesman was not lost on her, and it only compounded her irritation with the man.

If she’d been her mother, Senator Julia Smith, answering the door, the salesman would’ve ate his own hat before daring to pitch his inane sales script to someone of her stature. But that was the entitled sort of talk her mother so enjoyed, Cassie realized as she was reaching for the doorhandle. Her anger was already fizzling down as the door swung open and she realized that she no longer knew what to say to him. So, she just stared awkwardly.

“Good morning! Vault-Tec calling!” The man said way too cheerily for this early in the morning. His light expression appeared forced and unnatural like a mask. Just one of the many things she hated about this man and she barely knew him.

“Morning”, Cassie said coldly. The man looked slightly uncomfortable at the cold greeting but he was not discouraged enough to leave.

“Now, I know you're a busy woman, so I won't take up much of your time. Time being a, um, precious commodity...”, he cleared his throat and continued, “I'm here today to tell you that because of your Mother’s service to our country, you have been pre-selected for entrance into the local Vault. Vault 111. I’m sure you’ve seen the massive construction site down the way…”

“I’ve already said I’m not interested”, Cassie told him and tried to close the door but the Vault-rep’s hand shot out and stopped her. Cassie glared at him with an expression that could melt steel. The man sighed exasperatedly and dived back into his sales pitch.

“It really won't take but a moment! All your info’s already in the system and you can take the spot or leave it as you wish. All we need is to verify a few things, only a few things…please”, he waved his clipboard as if to illustrate this point, “You know, just to make sure you're cleared for entrance, in the…unforeseen… event of…”, he paused anxiously, “total atomic annihilation”.

“Oh shit, really?” Cassie feigned surprise, “Well that certainly sounds like it would work on Mr. and Mrs. I’m-Afraid-Of-Everything the house over, but since you’ve already got my information, you’d know that’s not my last name”.

“Look ma’am, we’ve already spent more time arguing over this than it takes to double-check your info, if you’ll excuse my language, just sign the fucking paper”, the man said desperately.

Cassie wondered what would make him desperate enough to curse at a prospective customer but decided he was right in terms of the sunk-cost.

“Fine, show me the damn thing.”

He passed over his clipboard and a pen. Attached to the board was two pre-filled forms that listed everything from her name and date of birth to the type of jam she liked on toast. They’d must have gotten it all from her mother’s file with the Secret Service. At least everything looked correct… She still had blonde hair and green eyes, and she hadn’t gotten any taller than the short side of average. Cassie signed the sheet and passed it back.

“Wonderful!” the Vault man exclaimed and glanced at the newly-signed forms, “That's... everything...” he tapped his pen on the clipboard with a satisfied click. “I’m just gonna walk this over to the Vault then! Congratulations on being prepared for the future!”

Cassie shut the door. She felt slightly dazed and sat down on the nearby couch wondering what had come over her. She’d opened the door intending to yell at the man but instead she’d bought into his pitch. They’d gotten so much more aggressive in their advertising lately. Just last month they’d only had one representative per neighborhood, now it was closer to ten. And all ten of them were going door to door just about every day. Add to that the recent rep’s behavior and it just seemed like something had got Vault-Tec scared, was there something going on in the War that they weren’t reporting? If her mother’s rants about work were anything to go on, then that was probably correct, but to what extent?

She flicked on the television to find a weather program was on, “-But then we're looking at a cold front coming down from Canada, making it crisp and dry for next week's Halloween festivities-”

Cassie changed the channel a few times to find an oldies channel showing some old romance and let that play while she stared at her mother’s ancient credenza where the old lady kept all the good liquor. The house was in her mother’s name, all the furniture and its contents too. Her mother had an apartment in Boston and rarely came by unless she needed a house to entertain at. For those occasions she made it very clear that Cassie was expected to find alternative accommodations for the evening unless she wanted to spend hours playing the part of the “perfect” daughter. When Cassie was younger, she’d used it as an excuse to go out, but in recent years she’d outfitted the small bomb shelter in the backyard into a makeshift apartment. It had a small cot, a tv, table and chairs, a few creature comforts like books and snacks. Overall, despite the damp and occasional flooding, it was a comfortable little hole to live in for a night or two.

Suddenly a loud screech from the TV caught her attention and the film was replaced by a grim-faced news anchor.

“-Followed by... yes, followed by flashes. Blinding flashes. Sounds of explosions... We're... we're trying to get confirmation... But we seem to have lost contact with our affiliate stations... W-We do have- we do have... We do have coming in... That's um... confirmed reports. I repeat, confirmed reports of nuclear detonations in New York and Pennsylvania. My God-” the report cut off as a screen showing STATION UNAVAILABLE replaced it.

Cassie dropped the remote and stared at the TV dumbly for a minute before shaking herself out of it. Was this really happening? Detonations in New York and Pennsylvania, but that would mean… That would mean that Boston could soon be hit by the shockwaves and waves of irradiated ash and debris. Cassie grabbed her coat from the coat-hook and her go-bag from by the door and stepped out into the street to see her neighbors also wandering around in various states of panic and bewilderment. The couple next door, Nate and Nora had been the first to sign up at Vault 111 and Cassie could see that they had already bundled up their infant son and were headed in the direction of the newly-constructed Vault. Cassie followed them.

Just past a little wooden bridge in the forested edge of the development, a queue was forming at a chain-linked fence in front of which an armed guard flanked by two in suits of power armour was taking names and IDs. She saw the young couple head straight for the guard who waved them in after a brief conversation. Cassie decided to do the same. As she approached the guard put his hand on his holstered gun and raised his hand to stop her.

“Back of the line, miss! No line jumping!”

“It’s alright, my name’s on the list, look”, Cassie offered her ID card. The man took it and referred back to his list then nodded.

“Yes, my apologies, Ms. Smith. I didn’t know you’d just been added. Please come through and follow the instructions my colleagues will give”, the man waved her through.

Cassie nodded in thanks and went through. Other guards waved her along to a disk-shaped platform on which a few other neighbours stood. She looked around and recognized the couple next door. They were looking quite anxious.

“Stay in the middle of the platform, do not attempt to leave the inner ring!” A Vault-Tec employee shouted at the group.

There was an all-consuming flash and she heard someone say, “Look! Over there!”

Cassie turned to look then felt her stomach lurch as the platform began to sink into the ground. It was some sort of elevator! In the direction her neighbour was pointing, Cassie could see a mushroom cloud rising in the distance. A nuke had hit here! She could see the edge of the shockwave distorting the space around the detonation as it raced across miles and miles. The platform continued to sink and overhead some doors began to slide shut. The last thing Cassie saw before they’d finally sealed shut was a tiny sliver of blue sky being replaced by nuclear firestorm.

Now in darkness, Cassie could hear her neighbours begin to speak in hushed tones. A few sounded like they were quietly crying. Some even praying. Cassie herself didn’t hold too much with prayer. She’d seen her mother take advantage of the religious far too much to not develop a heavy cynicism against it. “Thoughts and prayers” had been her mother’s go to phrase whenever the times got tough. In fact, Senator Smith was probably already extending these to all those who had to have died in the New York and Pennsylvania bombings.

Finally, light began to filter through the lift’s shaft as the floor fell below the upper height of an adjoining corridor which was blocked off by some sort of protective grate. Cassie could see shapes moving inside and as the view became wider, she realized they were some Vault-suited Vault-Tec employees. One was already waiting just outside the lift, and called out to the assembled civilians:

“Please remain inside the inner circle until the elevator has stopped moving! We will let you know when it is time to move forward”.

The elevator finally came to a halt and the grate was lifted. The corridor led to a set of stairs that the man who’d greeted them directed everyone to. Just past the stair was the Vault’s massive gear-shaped door and just beyond that was the intake atrium. Cassie walked past all these, wondering at the sheer size and complexity of these arrangements. Despite all this, she still felt somewhat uneasy walking across the threshold of Vault 111. Just past the entrance the path lead to a battery of floor-mounted decontamination wands which buzzed faintly as people passed through them. A plastic wrapped Vault jumpsuit was assigned to her and the group was directed to a man in a white coat who led them further inside.

“This is one of our most advanced facilities, not that the others aren’t great either, mind you…”. Cassie tuned the man out. She’d never been inside a Vault before so she dedicated herself to familiarising herself with the interior. After all, this was to be her new home for the foreseeable future, might as well get working on adapting. Cassie wondered if her mother had managed to get to a Vault in time. Then she wondered exactly how she’d feel if the old lady hadn’t. Would she miss her?

The hallway they were in was somewhat tubular with a lot of the piping and ductwork left exposed, it gave the place a semi-unfinished look but everything was neatly arranged and brand-new from the look of it. Every so often the hallway would branch off, but these intersections were blocked off by heavy doors. Standing guard in front of these were more vault-suited guards in some sort of riot gear. A rot here and now would definitely be bad, but the general disposition she got in the room was one of both fear and defeat. It would be a long while before anyone felt up to violent revolution, Cassie felt.

The open section of the hall ended in a much larger room filled with massive pods. The white-coated man waited until everyone had gathered inside before speaking.

“This way, please. Just step in here and put your Vault Suit on. The pod will decontaminate and depressurize you before we head deeper into the Vault. Just relax and you’ll soon be on your way to see your new home!”

Cassie dressed in the vault suit. Sure, it fit, but it wasn’t as comfortable as she would’ve liked. Maybe she’d get used to it after a time. She watched as her other neighbours climbed into their respective pods and the lids were closed by a team of other lab-coat clad Vault-Tec employees. Cassie climbed into hers and tried to get herself comfortable as the lid slowly sealed. She felt somewhat claustrophobic once she heard the seals engage and hoped the process wouldn’t take too long.

“ _RESIDENT SECURE_ ”, a tinny mechanised voice said over some sort of intercom. Cassie grit her teeth hoping that the process would hurry the fuck up.

“ _OCCUPANT VITALS: NORMAL_ ”, well, that was at least a relief. But that still wasn’t enough to get her out of the damn machine. Her breathing had already started to become much shorter as her heart rate rose. She could see across the room that one of her neighbours looked quite relaxed, almost like they were napping. How anyone could nap in a time like this…

“ _PROCEDURE COMPLETE_ ” _Oh thank fuck…_ Cassie thought, _get this damn door open!_

“ _IN_ ” _Ah, fuck, really?_

“5” _Only 5? That could be worse…_

“4”

There was a hissing noise, was it the pressure releasing so the door could open?

“3”

It started to get really cold, Cassie could see her breath coming out in little puffs. _What the hell?_ She could taste something weird in the air, was that gas?!

“2”

It sounded like it came from far away, her eyelids were so heavy…maybe a little nap…

“1”


	2. Waking Up - Cassie

Cold. Dark. The sound of breathing. Her own?

Yes.

Her bones ached and her head felt like it was stuffed full of cotton.

Worst morning ever.

How much had she drunk last night? Wait, last night? What had happened?

Vague images of a nuclear cloud forming in the distance. The boom. The light. There’d been doctors… Her neighbours too.

The weirdest dream…

Cassie squeezed her eyes closed. If she could just go back to sleep… She might wake up out of this lucid dream in her bed. But the mattress was angled weird. Like instead of lying she was half-sitting half-standing. She kicked her feet to rid herself of the pins-and-needles and found herself sliding downward.

Her eyes flashed open now to see frosted glass. This wasn’t home. This wasn’t a dream. Or, more lucid than any Cassie had ever dreamt before.

Where was she?!

Trembling hands felt around the space and Cassie realised she was confined inside something. She began to panic, and with that panic came the memories of how she’d gotten in there.

The Nukes were real. Boston had really been hit. She had gone into a Vault. A Vault Cassie had signed up for at literally the last second. She’d ran, where was her go-bag? It hadn’t made it into this dark coffin with her. But it wasn’t all that dark, Cassie realised. Through the frosted damaged glass she could see a little amber light flickering.

Of course, there was a whole room outside this…Pod, right? The room where the doctors had told them to dress and enter these machines. It had gotten cold then. Cold, and there had been gas! Then she’d fallen asleep.

How long had she slept for?

There was no one on the other side of the glass, no movement save for the flickering amber light. The room was dimly lit, as if the main lights had been shut off. Was Cassie even supposed to be awake right now? If putting them under this way had been Vault-Tec’s intended end, was this some sort of malfunction? And why did the doctors lie? They said this would only be temporary.

Cassie raised her shaking hand and banged on the lid of her Pod. The simple action tired her more than she’d anticipated but her anxiety kept her from stopping. The door shook a bit in its housing and Cassie began to kick it. Her feet stung as she drove them into the metal surface but eventually there was a crunch and the lid began to rise. She must have broken the latch.

Cassie pushed the door open and it rose above her with the sound of metal scraping metal. She didn’t remember the hinges sounding like that, had they forgotten to clean them? She stepped out, but misjudged the distance in the dark and fell to the ground. Something vaguely familiar and soft broke her fall. Cassie pushed herself up, then screamed.

It was a dead body.

Cassie scrambled away onto a metal step; her legs were still not cooperating properly. In the dim light the man’s skin still had that greenish-odd hue that months-old decomposing corpses had. His face was obscured by shadow but she could still recognise him from figure alone. It was that neighbour man. Nate had been his name, right? He had a wife and son. From the looks of it, he’d been shot in the chest. That’s when she recognised that heavy stench in the air. Decomposition.

But that meant _someone_ had to have shot him. Were they still there? Cassie cast her attention to the room now, noticing that not only one pod had been opened, but now a total of three. That meant someone else was awake. Or dead. The rest of the pods remained closed. There was still the matter of the shooter as well. Perhaps one of the open pod’s occupants had perpetrated it. Or someone from Vault-Tec? Or worse, someone from outside?

Cassie pulled herself up on the stair’s railing. She felt surprisingly weak and light. Whatever had happened while under, it had taken a lot out of her. She didn’t remember basic physical activity being this strenuous. She shuffled around the dead body of her neighbour and found a wall-mounted terminal.

Cassie tapped at its keyboard to wake the machine up. From the information displayed, Cassie realised what had happened. Vault-Tec had put them into cryogenic pods!!

Reading further she felt her stomach drop. All the other occupants were dead. At least according to the screen readout. The only ones that weren’t present were Nate, Nora, Shaun, and then finally Cassie. Nate was dead, Cassie was here, where were Nora and Shaun?

Cassie didn’t remember tripping over a baby in here, but that didn’t necessarily preclude the possibility that the pair were somewhere else, dead or alive. Not that it really mattered now. Cassie was in the most high-tech mausoleum known to man, and she wasn’t keen on becoming one of the interred. There had to be a way out of here.

Just next to the terminal was the button to open the door to the cryogenic pod room. Cassie pushed it and the door slid open to reveal the hallway that had once been so shiny and new. Now, there was rust everywhere, the paint had peeled long ago. No sounds aside from the echoing drips of water and the rustling noises of chitinous creatures. Cassie stepped out; the stench of death was lesser here, but still ever present.

Just ahead, the sliding door to the Vault intake hung open like the blade of a guillotine. She could see dark shapes scurrying about on the floor, about rat-sized but not quite shaped like any rat Cassie had ever seen. It made her skin crawl. Still, she pressed on and as she drew closer, she realised they were _roaches_. The likes of which she had never before seen. The size of large rats, perhaps even bigger, they skittered about in search of whatever it was roaches were wont to search for. In response to Cassie’s relatively heavy step, they scattered into the dark corners of the room.

She kept going, past what appeared to be tattered skeletons, their coats no longer white. Marred by filth, everything had become the same rust brown. It was apparent that this Vault held nothing but the dead and their eaters. It was a tomb.

The no-longer powered decontamination wands remained silent as Cassie passed through them onto the walkway that lead past the massive gear-shaped door. Someone had opened it, or maybe it had remained open. Cassie couldn’t remember seeing them close it, but it had to have been, right?

Past the door, underneath which was an ominous pool of black water. Past the door, down the steps. There was the elevator. The way out. Cassie hoped with all her being that, of all the broken things in this cavernous crypt, the elevator was the odd one out. Her boots scraped against the wet concrete of the platform and she reached for the button labelled “up”. Her hand hovered, would it work? Would it actually work? Cassie closed her eyes, perhaps if she kept her eyes closed, she wouldn’t see the button remain lifeless, she wouldn’t have to acknowledge her place here. Outstretched fingers depressed the button. _Please work,_ she prayed to the empty elevator, _Please work_. The button stopped in its housing; it had surely registered the press.

Nothing happened.

For several seconds Cassie stared at the button with a growing panic. Then her stomach lurched as the platform screeched into action. It was rising!

Her view of the Vault Intake slid away and was replaced instead with darkness. In a similar manner, her excitement at the prospect of freedom was replaced by new worries. What if the elevator got stuck? Cassie had traded one tomb for another. If the elevator even made it to the top, what was she going to find? Who might she find waiting for her? And the radiation…She hadn’t thought about the radiation. Still, the elevator rose. At this point she had no choice but to face whatever happened next.

Another screech of metal against metal as the blast doors at the top of the shaft began to roll back exposing utter brightness. Cassie raised a hand to shield her eyes as they adjusted. With the light came a breath of probably irradiated but fresh smelling air. As the pain in her eyes subsided, she could see grey clouds above. Yes. Just a few metres more, then she’d be free of the grave that was Vault 111.

Her head was the first to break above ground level, so she chanced a look-around. The site had become almost unrecognisable from the place she’d so eagerly run to during the bombardment. The traces of destruction were all around to be seen. Machines had become blasted out hulks of metal, the fences now sagged and rusted. The ground was thick with dead-looking foliage and Cassie could see the nude jagged shapes of dead and dying trees. There was no one here. Cassie had risen to what felt like an alternate world, utterly alone.

Cassie compared her memory of the place to what she saw before her and was able to deduce her bearing from where the dilapidated husks now stood. That truck had been there before, and it was here now, that meant the neighbourhood was that way, wasn’t it? Just there, a ledge from which she could see the whole place.

Cassie approached it to see what had become of her previous home but all she saw was rubble from which the exposed metal framings of the homes rose like exposed bones in a carcass. The neighbourhood was utterly unrecognisable. Her heart sank at the sight. _Oh god, if only this was a dream_. Cassie thought, _If only I could wake up!_

Cassie began the hike down to the dilapidated mess of houses that had once been her home. She tried not to think too hard about the radiation. Not that it was a challenge, there was plenty else to think about.


	3. Waking Up - Sam

It was dark. Trapped in some kind of container, they writhed and fought, breaking free from the glass prison. Stepping through the shards of shattered glass, they found themself in a dark and damp concrete tunnel. All around them, glass containers lined the walls, glowing slightly. They did not stop to see what was in them. They didn’t think about such things.

Driven by instinct they sought air and light, following the breeze through miles of winding tunnels until they reached the stunning light of day. They shrank from it; the sun’s blaze was blinding. But soon the curiosity of what lay beyond grew too strong and they stepped out into the light. Then the ground disappeared from under their feet and they fell. Unknown to them, the cave had led out to a cliff and in their blindness, they had stumbled over the edge. There was pain, and then darkness once more.

* * *

Ma and Pa Petersen had set out for town yesterday. Today, they were returning with a full wagon of goods from the general store as well as a new pony. The last one had been spooked by something while in pasture and had taken off. Pa spent three days tracking it, only to find a mountain lion had gotten there first. He hoped this one would scare less easily.

Ma sat at the front alongside Pa, who was driving the horses. She had convinced her husband to add a whole barrel of flour to their shopping list, and she was dreaming about the many pies she could make with fresh fruit from the farm. It was apple season; everyone loved her apple pies.

Suddenly the horses veered off the old forest road, and Pa cursed a blue streak while trying to get them under control. Finally, they slowed to a stop a short distance from where they had panicked. Ma looked back and saw something lying in the road.

Pa got down, taking his rifle, “Stay in the wagon, dear”, he told his wife. She was glad to comply, the road had gotten more dangerous in recent years and she wasn’t much of a fighter at her age.

As he headed down the road, he noticed that what he thought was some sort of animal started to look more human the closer he got to it. _Shit, did I hit a guy?! Is he dead?!_

The guy wasn’t dead, Pa found out, as he came close enough to see them breathe. He felt relieved, but also realized he now had a potentially very pissed-off person in front of him. He poked at them with his rifle, making sure to stay out of arms reach. The figure stirred, and Pa stepped back.

The person was short, not extremely so, and looked very young. Had he hit a child? It sat up, and Pa had a hard time deciding if it was a “he” or a “she”. They also looked extremely dazed, and the old man noticed they had a large cut on the side of their head. They must’ve hit it. Or been hit.

“Hey, watch where yer goin’, kid, ya coulda been killed!”, Pa said sternly. They looked at him blankly, not a trace of understanding in their eyes.

“Where’s yer parents? Did ya run away from home?” Again, the same blank expression. Pa might as well have been yelling at one of the horses.

“Do ya understand me?”, Pa grabbed their arm and tried to pull them up, that’s when he noticed a series of parallel lines making a long rectangle on the back of their neck, like some sort of tattoo. He noticed they were dressed strangely. As if from before the apocalypse, vaguely reminiscent of a Vault suit, but those were blue, not grey. The clothes looked too new for them to have been made today.

The strange person fell forward, and Pa finally noticed a nasty looking fracture on their leg that must have been pinned under them. How they hadn’t immediately cried out when it was moved, he didn’t know. What he did know what that they must have lost a lot of blood at this point.

“Millie! Git over here! Bring a blanket and summa that rope! This kid’s pretty hurt”.

* * *

When they awoke again it was hot. The air was stifling and there was a smell that wasn’t particularly pleasant. Overhead was an old grey ceiling from which overloaded strips of fly-paper hung. Two creatures sat beside them, opening their mouths and making noises to each other. The creatures made noises to them, but they could not understand. Then the creatures made noises to each other again.

An odd feeling. They felt a strange churning, and something else. A need, a hunger. It made noise. The strange creatures looked at Them, the creatures had heard it too. The smaller one stood, and left the room. The larger one stayed. It looked at them. They looked at it. _What it want?_

The smaller one came back. It brought a plate of something. It smelled good. They could feel themselves salivating, _I want it_. The small one offered it to them but then took it back as they reached for it. The small creature stared at them and made a noise.

“Food”.

They stared back. They felt impatient. _Why it making noises? I want it! Give!_

Again, the small creature made the noise, “Food”, and then it pointed at the plate.

Irritated, They reached out again, but the creature withdrew it again. “Food”. Another point.

They looked at the other creature, it was watching them. It wanted something from Them. They wanted something from it. The noise, they kept making it. Maybe they should make the noise too?

“Food”, they said, and pointed to the plate, just like the small creature had done.

The creatures looked at each other, then the small one gave them the plate. They ate, feeling stronger with each bite. The creatures watched, but they could care less. They had got what they wanted.

After they had eaten, the creatures made more noises to each other. Lots of noises. Then the smaller one drew close. It pointed to itself and made another noise. It did it a few times. “Ma.”

They pointed at themself like it had done, and made the noise, “Ma?”

The small one made some noises, and shook its head. It made the noise again, “Ma”, and pointed to itself.

They became confused. What was the sound supposed to mean?

Slowly, the small creature approached and reached out to take their hand. It put their hand on its face and said the word again. Then it let go.

They looked around for a moment, then pointed at the small one, “Ma?”.

Ma nodded. That meant good. Headshake bad. They pointed at the larger one, “Ma?”

It shook its head. “Pa”.

They pointed again, “Pa”. Then pointed at Ma, “Ma”, They said.

Ma and Pa nodded. That meant good. Headshake bad. Small one: Ma, Big one: Pa.

Then Ma pointed at them. Ma made some more noises and pointed a few more times. Then it took their hand and put it on their own face. Then mimed making noises.

They made a noise. One they had heard Ma make. “Sam”. They pointed at themself again, “Sam”. Ma and Pa nodded. That was good.

Sam learned many things this way. Once they had acquired a large enough vocabulary, they learned that the structure they were in was called a “House” and the land was called a “Farm”. They also learned that Ma and Pa were “people” just like they were, and that they were something called “Married”. Sam learned that they should pay attention to the noises people make, because that was how they “talked”. Talking was apparently very important. Ma talked a lot, but Pa was very quiet.

Sam also learned that they could draw talking. Ma taught them how to make the shapes for “words”, which were called “letters”. It was kind of boring but Ma told them it was very important and that they should look for these shapes Outside. Sam knew 10 letters. Three of them were ‘s’, ‘a’, and ‘m’. That spelled ‘Sam’ which was the word Ma and Pa used to call them.

Pa taught Sam how to work on the farm. He showed them how to take care of the many creatures called “Cowschickensandhorses”. He also showed them how to repair things. Most importantly, Pa taught Sam about trade.

“If ya wanna git somthin’, yer gotta give somthin’. That’s how the world works. That’s how it’s always gonna work, even now at the end of the world. There ain’t nothin’ for free out there, there’s always a price”.

Such was Sam’s life on the Petersen farm. They barely considered the fact that they had just woken up like this one day, and it hardly troubled them that they had no memories before that day. Sam didn’t think about such things.


	4. Letters from the Past

**S** **TART MESSAGE**

**DATE** : March 15th, 2076;

 **TO** : Director Sanderson of the Department of Defence;

 **CC** : Secretary DoD

 **FROM** : GenoCorp; Executive; Research and Development Department;

 **ATT’D** : PromoVid-Units.mov; BasicUnitStats.gnc; UnitPerf-Alaska.gnc; UnitPerf-NA.gnc; UnitPerf-SU.gnc; gncClient.exe;

**Director Sanderson,**

Enclosed you’ll find the relevant projections from our Analysis Department regarding the performance of some 10,000 units in the situations and environments requested. We understand your hesitance in deploying the models en-masse, but we assure you that the technical difficulties in the last batch have been ironed out and we are confident to say that the new iterations will perform more than satisfactorily as an aid to our war efforts. To that end, GenoCorp has taken the liberty to batch out 100 Thousand units pre-emptive to your approval of their deployment. We require only an affirmative from you to begin the 10-month process of assembly, after which the units can be deployed to where ever is most in need of assistance.

We hope to hear from you soon. Know that with GenoCorp, victory is assured!

**GENOCORP**

_“We built the future – in the present!”_

**POSTSCRIPT** : As our filetypes are proprietary, we’ve also attached a ‘reader’ program that will allow you to experience our superior filetype as it is meant to be experienced.

**END MESSAGE**

* * *

**START MESSAGE**

**DATE** : March 16th, 2076

 **TO** : GenoCorp; Executive; Research and Development Department;

 **CC** : Secretary DoD

 **FROM** : Director Sanderson of the Department of Defence;

**GENOCORP and Representatives** ,

I am pleased to hear about the progress you have made with the product. In terms of the number of units ordered, we will need to increase that number by 300%, or more specifically, we will need 300 Thousand units. Additionally of special concern is your proposed timetable, 10 months is a long time. If you can shorten the production time to 5 months, I can ensure that your company receives whatever materials are needed to ensure that timetable. Consider this my formal approval of our partnership and submit your requisitions to my secretary forthwith. 

**Director Judson Sanderson**

**Department of Defence**

**POSTSCRIPT** : My security team advises me to warn you to adhere to standard filetypes in the interests of the security of our computers. It would be quite terrible for our correspondence to be halted on account of a conversion mistake. Please see to it that my security team has no cause for concern.

**END MESSAGE**

* * *

**S** **TART** **MESSAGE**

 **DATE** : March 16th, 2076

 **TO** : Director Sanderson of the Department of Defence;

 **CC** : Secretary DoD

 **FROM** : GenoCorp; Executive; Research and Development Department

**Director Sanderson,**

Understood.

**GENOCORP**

_“We built the future – in the present!”_

**END MESSAGE**


	5. Interlude

_An Unidentified Vault – Somewhere in Tennessee_

GenoCorp’s head researcher’s office was quite a lavish affair. Wood panelling surrounded a massive, imposing, desk, at which sat the man himself: Head of Research, Dr. Edouard Scharf. His dark hair was streaked with grey, but that was the only sign of age he allowed to remain visible. It made him look established, he thought, a little wiser perhaps. He sat, contemplating the problem at hand: Warehouse 10 had gone offline from the main network. They’d dispatched an away team to bring it back online, they were expected to return today. His reverie was broken by the shrill sound of a telephone. He picked it up.

“Scharf”, he answered though he knew the other party was well aware of his identity. It was just a part of the ritual.

“You’ve visitors, doctor, the away team captain is here along with Dr. Lee. Shall I send them in?” His secretary asked.

“Send them in”. Scharf returned the telephone to its housing and found himself straightening his tie. It wouldn’t do to have a single hair out of place. Perfection was power. At the door there was a light rap announcing his visitors’ presence. Scharf silently cleared his throat.

“Come in!” He requested in a tone that he understood conveyed authority without being overly distancing.

The AT Captain stepped in first. Not particularly tall or imposing, but Scharf knew that didn’t really matter because what stood before him was the ultimate culmination of GenoCorp’s efforts: the perfect biological war machine.

Designed for perfect physicality and programmed to be devastatingly cunning and devastatingly ferocious; the AT Captain –known as “Attie” for short- had once taken out a team of 4 marines in power armour using only improvised weapons. It had been a display of violence and raw power that had been obscenely exciting and also grossly terrifying. Fortunately, they were also designed for complete obedience.

Following Attie was the familiar figure of Dr. Lee. He too was quite short, but there was not a threatening bone in the man’s body. Lee’s particular area of expertise was in logistics, hence his accompaniment of the Away Team to analyse what had happened to drive Warehouse 10 offline then bring it back online.

Attie saluted and waited to be addressed.

“Please sit” Scharf gestured at his fellow academic who gladly took the offered chair. Attie remained standing, expression attentive.

Scharf let the silence carry for a beat, he found it made for the best effect on underlings.

“Captain, anything to report?” He addressed Attie first, it’s report would be more concise than anything Lee might come up with.

“Yes sir. Reporting mission history for away mission 145. Team engaged native hostiles three times while underway. No team losses”.

“And the objective?”

“At the objective the team re-secured the location then did complete inventory”.

“What was the status of the products?”

“Destroyed. Inventoried 9,999 out of total 10,000 units”, Attie reported.

Scharf frowned. He had predicted that Warehouse 10 had gone offline due to a power failure. That some of the product was missing indicated some sort of foul play.

“And were you able to locate the missing product?”

“No sir. Team found this security recording indicating the missing product had left the warehouse”, Attie took a holo-tape from its tac vest pocket and offered it. Scharf took the tape and plugged it into his terminal. He frowned as he watched a small figure stagger across the camera’s field of view and disappear. There was no doubt it was heading for the exit.

“Will the team be deployed again, sir?” Attie asked.

Scharf looked thoughtfully at the terminal screen. Warehouse 10 had housed the defective product, every unit that hadn’t managed to pass inspection. The fact that it had lived long enough out of the tank to walk out of the warehouse was a stroke of sheer luck. Statistically, it was already dead.

“No. Return to your home station and await further instructions. Dismissed”, Scharf waved Attie off. He breathed a sigh of relief once the door closed. Sure, he’d practically invented the things, but he still found them unsettling. Not all the earlier iterations had been as well-programmed as Attie, in fact, Attie was the first one to come out right. It had taken a combination of trial and error, and sheer luck, to finally come up with the right combination of genetic programming and behavioural programming to create a product that was obedient enough to follow orders, but independent enough to adapt to an ever-changing combat environment.

He turned to Dr. Lee, who had remained patiently silent for the whole exchange. Lee would be able to give a much more complete analysis of the situation. Scharf opened a drawer and retrieved a small bottle of whiskey and some glasses. He placed one in front of Dr. Lee and the other in front of himself and poured out a reasonable serving into each. Lee smiled and sipped from his glass quite eagerly. Drinking alcohol was tightly rationed.

“So, Dr. Lee, what’s your analysis of the situation, any signs of sabotage?”

Lee shook his head, “No, looks like lightning hit one of the generators and toasted the management centre. From there, most of the systems failed, specifically life support. Unfortunately, that means that all the units expired shortly after. Despite my best efforts, it would take more resources than we have to repair the damage to the electrical system, I have marked Warehouse 10 as a loss. Regarding the missing product, my analysis of the container indicated that it had been manufactured improperly, leading to it’s opening during the power failure”.

“And what is your analysis of the missing unit? Do you think it would last out there?”

“I was able to retrieve the report for that particular unit, Product 9875 from line M. We built that line pretty strong, if it was at full function, it would absolutely survive”.

“But it’s not at full function, is it?”

“No, one of the issues of that line was the 97% fail rate. The contemporary synaptic chip model inhibited brain development leading to increased aggression and lack of any target higher functions. A majority also had signs of poorly developed internal organs, leading to organ failure within weeks of activation”.

“So, is it your professional opinion that Product M-9875 has, or will, expire?”

“The statistics surely indicate so, yes. My recommendation is to continue our observation of the immediate area around the affected warehouse to make absolutely certain that the unit has expired and does not fall into the hands of any nefarious parties”.

Scharf nodded, he’d already decided that would be his plan of action, but it was nice to see Lee agreed. He knocked back his glass of whiskey, for a man of his station, rations were more like guidelines. Lee frowned, knowing that his time to savour the drink was coming to a close. But first, one more question.

“One last thing, Dr. Lee, before you go. Were you able to activate the decommissioning process for the damaged warehouse, or will we need to improvise?”

“Luckily, that system remained undamaged. I was able to decommission the warehouse before we left through a series of controlled detonations. There should be no danger of those Institute pricks acquiring any data from the site”.

“Excellent, thank you, Dr. Lee. Be sure to collect your anti-rads from the dispensary before settling back into your work. Keep me apprised of any news”.

Lee finished his drink somewhat reluctantly and left. Scharf placed the used glass on a tray of others like it, the housekeeping would pick it up at the end of the day. He returned to his terminal where the security video was paused. He played it again, he just couldn’t shake the feeling that something very bad had happened. GenoCorp had never lost a single unit before, much less a defective one, and only about 20 active units had actually experienced the world outside of their protective vaults. All of them had taken to the chaotic and violent environment outside like fish to water. Imagine if one like Attie had gotten out, imagine if the Institute had gotten their hands on it. Or even worse, a particularly aggressive faction.

But of course, that would never happen.


	6. Coming Home (Cassie)

A light rain had started up again as Cassie made her way down the forested path to the now-dilapidated suburb that had been her home. The smell of the rain made her feel more comfortable; it was the only familiar thing she’d experienced today. She was surprised there wasn’t more damage overall considering the size of the nuke she’d seen. A part of her wondered if it had been a good idea to leave the Vault so early, surely the radiation levels… But she hadn’t been burned yet, didn’t feel sick. At the moment, the idea of slowly rotting underground seemed less appealing than dying of radiation sickness.

The true extent of the damage to the neighbourhood became increasingly apparent as Cassie drew nearer. She could count maybe 4-5 roofs still being held off the ground by whatever supports remained. Drawing near the sidewalk she could see smoke rising from somewhere within the development. Smoke meant _people_. 

Cassie wasn’t quite sure about meeting new people just yet. What if they had been the ones who murdered her neighbours? It was probably smartest to have a look-around, assess the situation first, then slowly try to integrate with whatever populations were remaining. God damn, it was hard being sneaky wearing what had to be the brightest, bluest, jumpsuit known to man.

Going around the edge of the nearest backyard, Cassie kept a cautious eye towards the smoke column. Statistically, that was where people were most likely to come from, but she wasn’t going to discount the possibility that she’d come across people patrolling the edges of the development. But what would she do if she saw someone? Running seemed like the best option. Run and find a place to hide, then see what she could do to regroup.

Once the pride of the suburbs, the backyards were utterly destroyed. Wild grasses and other vegetation grew wild past knee height. The plastic-cast lawn furniture were all bleached white underneath a thick cover of green moss. The little perfect picket fences had all rotted by now so you could scarce tell where the original yard ended and the rest of the world began. Mangled rusted figures were scattered about, some perhaps car parts, others perhaps lawn statues. Time had eaten away at all those little bright details that had once been so painstakingly curated by American suburbia.

At least she could still count-off the houses from the hulks of rubble that remained. Her house was the 14th down. Cassie remembered that several of the houses’ owners had talked of installing bomb shelters in their backyards. She would have to work to remember which exact ones those had been but they had to be worth checking out if they hadn’t already been raided. If she could get access to her own bomb shelter, she’d be able to grab whatever remained undamaged.

Her home was not that far ahead and sadly it had been one of those that fared the worst of the damage. Still, if she just had the chance to poke around the rubble, perhaps she’d be able to grab something useful. Her mother had once talked about keeping a loaded 9mm in her study desk. If it was still there, Cassie would feel a lot safer with it. Some fresh clothes would be nice, too, and whatever canned food was still good. Food. Food would be really nice right now.

Just next door the neighbour’s house was still relatively house-shaped. Cassie made a mental note to check it out. She’d heard Nate talking to the other neighbourhood guys about some new camping gear he’d bought. Now _that_ would come in handy. But first, she needed to pick through the wreckage of her former home.

It had been a single-story home, two bedrooms on opposite ends of the house, each with their own bathrooms. She never had to try hard to avoid her mother on the rare occasions she’d come home. Her mother’s study had been on the right side of the house as you approached from the front, the same side that her bedroom had been on. That meant from the backyard, the study would be on the left-hand side. There was a window out to the backyard from there. It was all bent out of shape and all the glass had been shattered leaving a space that Cassie could just barely fit through. It was a tough squeeze alright, and one of her vault suit zippers snagged and tore. _That cheaply made, huh?_

Finally squeezing into the collapsed office space, she could see the desk in question. Covered in detritus and rust. Off in the dark corners of the room she could hear the rustling noises of small creatures rooting about in the dead leaves and mess. The air was thick with the scents of rusting metal, decay, and earth. Cassie pulled on the drawer handles, one held a bunch of what had to have been stationery and office supplies, the other was full of shiny black beetles. The third drawer refused to move; it had been locked. This had to be where the gun was kept.

Cassie tugged at the drawer harder but it held fast. The old lady would’ve kept the keys glued to her person, so Cassie needed an alternative way in. She placed her foot on the desk frame for leverage then pulled on the handle. Maybe she’d luck out and this would be the second lock she could bust on physical strength alone. Unfortunately, luck wasn’t with her, rather than breaking the lock the handle flew off. Cassie tumbled backwards and a cloud of dust rose from the saturated carpet.

She sat up and stared at the desk. No keys, no handle, and the lock mechanism wouldn’t budge. What to try next? If she had maybe a screwdriver or some sort of power tools, she could break it. The house of a Senator apparently wasn’t supposed to contain tools, her mother had always paid repairmen to fix things anyways. Maybe the neighbours had some. They had to have had some. But first she’d raid the bomb shelter in the backyard.

Squeezing through the small window again, Cassie was lucky not to rip off any more zippers, though she did fall awkwardly on the ground when her foot got caught. The door to the shelter was buried under dirt, leaves, and other matter, but it didn’t take long to find the handle and pull the door open. The hinges squeaked in protest as the metal door swung open, and Cassie froze. Had anyone heard it?

She listened carefully. All she could hear were the calls of unseen birds and the rasp of dead leaves as the rain fell softly. After what felt like minutes, Cassie decided that the noise had gone unnoticed. She opened the door all the way, a little more carefully this time.

The entrance to the shelter was dark, and a damp scent emerged from the depths. The shelter had never smelt that great to begin with, but now it seemed like it was concentrated, more earthy. The metal door was covered in a layer of rust, everything indicated that the shelter had stayed untouched for months, perhaps even years. Cassie still wasn’t sure how long she’d been under, but the estimate kept going up with each new thing she saw.

She went down the familiar stone steps carefully. The moss that now covered them made her descent more difficult but she made it to the bottom without falling on her ass. It was cooler now that she was underground and the scent and darkness reminded her of the Vault. It made the space seem less inviting, less safe than it had been before the bombs dropped. To her, the Vault was a tomb not a refuge. And now, that was all Cassie could think about as she stared around the dilapidated shelter.

On either side of her were a set of metal shelves, on which some books and a series of cases were set. Inside these were the emergency supplies that the shelter had come with. They would come in handy. Just beyond these were two camp beds. One of them had collapsed, and the other one’s canvas appeared to have been eaten away. Beyond these was a set of tables and chairs upon which the TV sat. It didn’t look like it would work anymore, namely because the screen had been blown out.

Cassie went first to the shelves and took down one of the boxes. Inside was a stack of canned foods and other items wrapped in plastic wrap. She took one out then yelped in shock as a small spider crawled out, obviously having been disturbed by the change. Cassie shook it off and shuddered. After she recovered, she dumped out the contents of the box far enough away that any displaced insects stayed out of reach. Everything tumbled out, cans and cartons, alongside some plastic-wrapped medkits. The cartons were in bad shape, their contents had spilled out onto the damp floor, now ruined. At least most of the cans looked good, but a few had blown out or rusted. The labels on them were faded.

She took another box from the shelf and dumped it onto the table. This one was filled with plastic-wrapped supplies. Some matchboxes, a flashlight and multitool, towels, blankets, emergency radio and some extra charge cells for the electronics. Cassie grabbed the flashlight first and tested it. Unsurprisingly, it didn’t work. She unlatched the charge cell compartment and saw that it was empty. It switched on, finally, after she put a new one in. The beam wasn’t the most powerful, but it was better than nothing. She tucked it into her belt while she investigated the multitool. It had a screwdriver attachment that might come in handy prying the desk drawer open. Time to try that out.

She ascended the stairs quickly, back into the embrace of the grey daylight and fresh air. Back through the window, she unfolded the multitool’s screwdriver attachment and leveraged it against the drawer cover. Cassie yanked on it but the extension was too short to get any real force behind it, it kept jumping out of position with each pull. She needed something bigger. Time to check out the neighbour’s house.


	7. The Petersens

At 79 and some-odd years old, Emmeline Petersen, or as “Ma” as she preferred to be called, had seen much of the world, and had believed at the time, that she understood it. That was 200-odd years ago, when the bombs fell and she and her husband had been turned into _these_. Ghouls, was the usual name, though she’d heard even worse variations on the term in town. Aging normally had been tough enough, but this radiation-induced curse was even worse. The Turning had been something she wouldn’t wish on her worst enemy, but at least she didn’t have to do it alone. Her husband, John Petersen, had suffered the Turning alongside her. As far as she could tell, their children hadn’t been so lucky.

When the bombs fell, John had been the first to run 10 miles to the farm their eldest daughter owned. They found her crushed beneath a collapsed barn, and in the farmhouse, they found her husband had shot his brains out. Their second child, Matthew was nowhere to be found, his home completely empty and the furniture appeared untouched. It was like he had just simply disappeared. To make matters worse, when John returned, he fell gravely ill. Radiation poisoning. He must have come home hot enough with radiation to have hit Ma just as hard, and soon both were suffering from it. But instead of succumbing like many of their neighbours, they _changed_ , they became something else. At least the farm was still the same.

Petersen Farm was no large-scale operation, but it certainly was nothing to sneeze at. The Petersen family had enough land in their name to maintain 3 or 4 productive fields depending on the year. A nearby barn housed a handful of pigs, some horses, and a small herd of cows. They’d converted a garden shed into a chicken coop. And just like their carers, the animals had changed too. The first two-headed calf to be born had come as a shock, and the first one to survive to adulthood had been an oddity. But over the years, it had become just as rare that a calf came out ‘normal’ than not. The other animals evolved similarly, becoming stranger over the years, but so long as the chickens laid eggs, and the cows gave milk, things were fine. At least, the apple orchard had barely changed. Ma was quite proud of that. Back in the day, talk had been that the Petersen orchard produced the best pie apples the valley wide.

Farm work was hard work, but that didn’t seem to bother Sam. There was a strength in that small stature that was almost unnatural. It didn’t matter what it was, Sam could lift it; sacks of feed, tractor parts, hell, even the tractor itself once when it was mired in mud. Inhuman strength wasn’t exactly unusual now in a world full of Super Mutants and Ghouls, but the trade-off usually resulted in deformity and severe psychological damage. Ma Petersen would be hard-pressed to define Sam as anything close to physically deformed, but Sam definitely ticked the psychological damage box.

Ma Petersen had initially been glad to see Sam improve over the weeks that they stayed at the farm, but the improvement was disappointingly little for someone of their apparent age range and development. From her experience as a schoolteacher, someone like Sam should have mastery of much more than a handful of letters. Sam would certainly never be an intellectual, and in terms of emotional intelligence, Ma would be hard-pressed to describe their understanding as anything other than ‘shallow’. But Sam wasn’t the first lost soul to arrive at the farm. Nor would they be the last.

The nearby townsfolk weren’t too keen on having ghouls in town, but they needed the produce from the Petersen farm. As a result, the couple were permitted into town only on market days. Nobody from the neighbouring towns wanted to work as farm hands for a ghoul family, so they had to get a little creative with their hiring pool. Many of their workers were seasonal, travellers working to finance the next steps of their journeys. The rest were either other ghouls, or people who chose not to engage much with “polite society” for some reason or another. Ma learned that asking after their pasts did no good for either party. Either they refused to engage the topic further, or Ma would learn exactly what sort of horrors could be found in the wastelands between the scattered communities. Such terrible stories… For the sake of her soul, Ma decided it wasn’t worth asking after. But at least it meant that Sam wasn’t the only oddity on the farm, and Ma thought it did them good to be around other ‘different’ people. Maybe they could learn something from the farmhands that Ma couldn’t teach herself.

Today was quite grey, but still there was something about the dour weather that brough Ma a sense of calm. There would be no rain, just cloudy skies and a brisk wind that signalled the arrival of fall, and soon winter. It was equally refreshing and nostalgic. She could remember standing on the porch as a child, so many years ago, watching the apple trees dance in the very same wind, feeling the excitement and anticipation that the changing weather always seemed to bring with it. The years had felt longer then, the wait for winter dragging on and on. Now, it always seemed like only just yesterday they had tilled the fields for the years crops before the winter wind came to blow it all away. At least it would soon be apple season. Time to be buying the necessities for pie, cider, and the ever-classic apple butter. They would be going to town today.

Pa was out front getting the cart and horses ready for the trip. Of the two, he had the best intuition for horses, they never cooperated when it was Ma’s turn to hitch them. But with him, they patiently awaited each instruction and allowed the man to attach the cart without even the slightest turn of an ear.

“Sam, are you ready to go?” Ma called back into the farmhouse.

Sam stepped out, wearing the new clothes Ma had put together, a semi uncomfortable expression on their face. She’d purchased some cloth from a seamstress down the way that had been enough to make a few shirts, trousers, and jackets. While they certainly weren’t the most fashionable things, they would keep a body warm and stand up to a bit of farm work. Overall, she thought they looked quite smart.

“Could you help John with the horses?” She asked them.

Sam nodded and went over to where Pa was and stepped in to help. As soon as they drew near, one of the horses flicked their ears nervously. The horses weren’t fans of strangers sure, but they always seemed especially anxious around Sam. She hoped maybe it was just a matter of getting used to them, but she couldn’t entirely fault the horses for their anxiety. There was just something deeply unsettling about Sam sometimes, especially when things got quiet.

“Horses are ready, it’s time to go. We’re already going to be late”, Pa called over from the cart.

Ma checked that she had her list of things to buy with her, then boarded the cart. Today was market day, there would be plenty to buy while the boys were selling some of the farm’s produce. It also gave her a chance to chat with some of the other ladies from the neighbouring farms and hear about how things were going. She had plans to invite the Garrets to dinner in return for the amazing barbeque they’d put on a few weeks ago.

The drive to town was uneventful and as the pale sun peeked through the clouds it brought a little warmth. The town’s market was held in a field just outside the main town wall, and was already full of carts and market stalls. Pa drove them to an empty space by the side where he and Sam could start to set up their market stand.

“Y’all need any help, let me know”, Ma offered, as always, and Pa shook his head, as always.

“Go shop before they run out”, was his only instruction. So, Ma left.

The list of remaining necessities steadily dwindled as she placed orders and haggled prices with the shopkeepers. Most of the older lot of vendors – particularly the ghouls – already had some sort of standing deal where in return for some cider or pie, they’d be more generous with their weighing. It was the newer faces that always weighed out to the exact ounce, and some even outright refused to sell to her. Ma wasn’t able to find the Garrets so she set out to finish the shopping so Pa could get everything packed and ready to go before it got too dark.

She’d just closed on several large bags of flour when there was a commotion from across the marketplace. A large swell of people were running towards the corner of the market near where Pa had set up, what was going on? She heard yelling emanating from that side and decided to see if Pa and Sam were alright. Whatever was happening was happening awfully close to their stand…


	8. The Neighbours (Cassie)

Back in her own yard, Cassie surveyed the remains of the neighbours’ house. She’d been in there once. Nate and Nora had held a small party just prior to the birth of their son, Shaun. It had been quite boring, everyone wanted to talk about the baby so Cassie had spent the duration of the event hovering around the punch bowl with the other neighbourhood alkies. But she didn’t need to be sober to remember the layout of the house. All the houses in the development had been built along the same floor plans.

She crept up to the back window to survey the interior. Despite the grime and dust, she could detect no movement in the kitchen, so as far as she was concerned, she could work with that. Cassie went around to the backyard door and tested the handle. Unlocked. Had everyone been this confident in the trustworthiness of their neighbours?

Cassie slowly opened the door, trying to avoid the squeaks that the hinges surely had in them by now. It swung open silently, to her relief, and she crept inside the dark space. Inside the house, it was oddly unchanged with the exception of a few signs of age when she started taking in the details. Most noticeable were the piles of ancient leaves and debris that had escaped the degradation of wind and sun. It was as if the autumn was eternal here, with all the piles of leaves and plant debris, Cassie wondered what things would look like in the spring, surely there had to be a spring right?

The now-ancient kitchen was surprisingly intact after so-many-odd years of nature’s influence. The strangest, and most worrying, thing was that the counters were practically free of dust and debris – as if someone had kept them wiped down. Looking over towards the living room, she noticed the dining table was some odd facsimile of set for dinner. On the table a series of broken plates were laid out with care, next to which a set of rusted silverware stood guard on either side. Some twisted empty cans sat in place of glasses and a plastic vase held some browning flowers. Cassie felt herself freeze at the sight. _Someone_ had definitely been here.

Cassie kept low and skirted around the edge of the kitchen island to scout the hallway that led to the bedrooms and utility closet. Everything seemed clear, so she crossed the open space quickly and turned into the first open doorway to her right, the utility room. Yet again, the level of dust here was suspiciously low. Everything looked surprisingly well-kept. There was a washing machine, a dryer, and a set of shelves from which a trail of some chemical spill had dripped. Cassie looked for the familiar shape of a toolbox, but there was no sign of one. Maybe in another room?

She returned to the doorway, and peeked down the hall. It was empty. Cassie turned back towards the living room which also was still empty. She crossed the hallway into the bathroom then stopped as she caught movement from the corner of her eye. She turned towards it, fists raised and found herself staring at her own face reflected in the bathroom mirror. Yet again, that strange cleanliness. She scanned the room, finding nothing else in here aside from the medicine cabinet behind the mirror. She pulled it open to find a few odds and ends: some rusted bobby pins, some discoloured pill bottles, an exploded toothpaste tube. Nothing useful.

Feeling emboldened by the lack of noise inside the house, Cassie went straight for the bedroom. Surely there had to be tools in one of the closets. She turned inside the bedroom and went straight for the closet. As she scanned the inside, a bright flash of red caught her eye: the toolbox! She unlatched it and pulled the lid open. Inside a number of screwdrivers and other tools sat, mostly rusty, but overall, they looked suitable for the task. She closed the box and took it with her. There was the sound of a door opening. Cassie froze.

Instead of footsteps, she heard an oddly familiar thrum of some sort and then a male voice hummed something unintelligible but musical. The humming stopped suddenly.

“Oh! That’s odd. I could swear I closed the back door…”, an oddly familiar British accent boomed from the living room.

Cassie opened the toolbox and grabbed a screwdriver. She could’ve dug through the box to grab the heavier wrench, but that would have made noise. Cassie crept across the room to get to the open doorway that led back to the hall. The stranger resumed humming, she could hear it grow louder and quieter as whoever it was tread quietly through the living room and kitchen. Cassie waited for what felt like an hour, then decided to dash for it. She took a deep breath then turned into the hall at full speed.

The tools clattered loudly inside the metal casing as her feet pounded against the floor. Clenched in her fist, the sharp end angled away from her body was the screw driver, ready to be slashed at any would-be obstacle. Whoever was in the living room would be well aware of her presence now.

A dark shape floated into her view and Cassie dodged it and caught her shin on the edge of an accent table. She crashed into the floor, rolling slightly and popping up with the screwdriver ready. She stared at her attacker; teeth bared.

“Have at the- oh! Miss. Smith, is that you?!” a very rough-looking Mr. Handy exclaimed. His three arms sank down, but only a little.

“Codsworth?” Cassie asked. Codsworth was Nate and Nora’s robot butler, Cassie had never really spoken with it? Him? Him.

“Oh, happy day!” the robot exclaimed, “Another one returns from that god-forsaken hole! I just saw miss Nora, oh, she was saying the most awful things…”

“Nora was here? Was Shaun with her?”

“Oh, that’s the rough of it miss. She said…”, Codsworth’s voice took on a note of despair that Cassie had never thought a Mr. Handy was designed to emulate, “She said he was _taken_ ”.

“Taken? By who?” The plot was getting thicker, what _had_ gone on in the Vault?

“By whom”, the robot corrected quickly, “And I’m afraid miss Nora seemed awfully confused about that matter but she was quite certain that those who took young Shaun were the same that… _killed_ …dear Sir”.

“You’re talking about Nora in the past tense, is she alright?” Nora wasn’t here, at her home, with all this death and destruction, had she fallen victim too?

“Ah, yes, she was in quite good health last I saw her. Oh! I should have insisted on going with her! But she was dead set on going alone!” Codsworth lamented.

“Where did she go?”

“I sent her off to Concord… then she returned a day later, with the most motley crew of people…” Codsworth trailed off, “Oh yes! I must introduce you to Mr. Garvey! He seems to be in charge of this little...encampment…or settlement and I’m sure you’d like to meet him”. He hovered in the direction of the front door.

“Wait!” Cassie hissed, she was _not_ ready to meet people yet, and Codsworth came to a stop, “Before I meet your Mr. Garvey, there’s something I need to get first. From my house”.

“Oh?” Codsworth floated closer, “Shall I accompany you?”

Cassie looked at the robot, still deciding if she wanted his company or not, then shrugged, “Sure, as long as you answer some questions for me”.

“Most certainly, fire away!” Codsworth cheerily quipped.

They walked to the back door while Cassie considered what other questions she still had. She stopped as she opened the back door and faced the robot.

“How long have we been away?” The most burning question, the most important question.

“I’m afraid the answer won’t be to your liking, Miss. Smith. Miss Nora certainly found it disturbing”, Codsworth hedged, “It’s been, well, my chronometer may be in error by a year or two, it’s been 210 years…about”.

Cassie nearly dropped the toolbox, “You’re _joking_ ”.

“I certainly wish I was, miss”, Codsworth said sadly.

Cassie just stared at him and took a look around the house again, “ _Shit_ , so you’ve just been here for two centuries? We’ve been gone _that long?_ ”

“Well, miss, I did try to visit Concord, but the people there…such rough types nowadays! So, err, yes. I’ve been here and you’ve been there for that long”.

 _200 years…fuck._ Cassie felt her knees go weak and a deep ache in the pit of her stomach settle in. She clenched her fingers around the handle of the toolbox and took a deep breath. _Solve the first problem, then the next…then the next. No time to break down now._ She straightened her shoulders and turned away. Time to get that damn gun. She could stress later.

“Are you alright, miss?” Codsworth asked.

“That’s not the problem I need to solve right now”, she told him, “Actually, it might be best I go get my things from my house alone”.

“Will you come back, miss?” Codsworth said in an odd tone. He sounded almost fearful, almost desperate. Cassie only nodded; she couldn’t bring herself to speak a lie.

She squeezed through the broken window again and found herself alone with the desk again. She dug through the toolbox and found a chisel and a heavy wrench. She inserted the chisel above the lock mechanism and pushed on it to see if it would catch. It did. Cassie stood and took the wrench, raised it high, then brought it down with all her strength on the chisel. The drawer panel bent enough that she could see the corner of a case inside the drawer but she was still unable to pull it open. She re-seated the chisel and wound up for another strike. She brought the wrench down a final time, and the lock popped completely and the drawer slid open a few centimetres. Cassie pulled it fully open, and grabbed the small black case praying that there wasn’t a lock on the case. There wasn’t.

She opened it and breathed a sigh of relief. Inside the mouldering velvet casing sat the gun. Inside another insert sat a magazine, and a box of bullets. Cassie took the gun out and inspected it. For having sat 200 years inside a mouldy gun case, it looked in surprisingly good order. She didn’t dare fire it until she had the chance to take it apart and give it a good cleaning, but perhaps just having it would make people think twice about causing problems.

She pocketed the magazine and the ammo box, and tucked the pistol into her belt awkwardly. Cassie made a mental note to make a holster for the pistol before clearing out of town completely. She just needed to grab a few more things from the bomb shelter, and she’d be ready to leave. Codsworth had mentioned that Concord had changed for the worse, but it might still be worth checking out before she struck out for Boston.

Climbing through the window for the last time, Cassie made a mental list of the things she needed. She turned towards the bomb shelter and stopped short. Standing next to the metal doors was a tall man carrying some sort of energy rifle, a wide-brimmed hat obscuring his face.

“Well, hello neighbour”, he said.


	9. The Market Madness - Sam

Pa had been checking on a crate of eggs when he felt a change in the air. He turned to see the market-goers part as a well-dressed man trailed by a handful of equally well-dressed women and men. The mayor had arrived. The shoppers kept their distance, in large part because the town’s sheriff stared daggers at anyone who dared get too close.

“It’s tax time people! Get your shares ready!”, the sheriff declared.

Pa groaned internally, but luckily, he’d already aside a few things in anticipation of this. Every year, the town levied a tax on the sellers in the market, supposedly to fund the next year’s protection, but more accurately to fill the pockets of the mayor and his entourage.

“Sam! Git over here and help me with these crates!” Pa yelled.

Sam walked over and waited for instruction, but Pa could see that the commotion by the mayor had caught their attention.

“Take these and put ‘em over there”, Pa said as he pointed to a spot in front of the sales table. Sam got to work moving the crates while Pa started re-arranging the display. When Sam finished with the crates, Pa could see them linger by the edge of the table, watching not the mayor but the sheriff intently. Pa felt a flash of concern, maybe it was best that Sam stayed out of the way for this transaction.

“Sam!” He called out, and Sam turned sharply, “Git over here, need you to move those crates from the wagon over there”, he gestured at the wagon and pointed in a random direction, hopefully the work would keep Sam occupied and out of the way while the shakedown happened. Sam left their post by the table and went to work with the crates, but not without shooting a few glances back at the sheriff who had started taking tributes from their corner of the market.

Pa stood by the boxes of ‘taxes’ and waited for the sheriff to arrive. When the man’s attention turned to him, he looked at the boxes and frowned.

“I heard y’all had a good year”, the man began, “ _this_ ”, he pointed at the stack, “does not look like a good year’s worth”. The sheriff crossed his arms and waited.

“This is what we gave last time, may not look like much but it’s the same value”.

The sheriff sized up the boxes again, then sniffed, “You heard what I said, _ghoul_ ”, absolute venom dripped from the last word.

Pa sighed, of course they weren’t going to be fair to the ghoul farm. “C’mon, what more do you want?”

“Double this”, the man said, “If you’d rather not, then that’s fine, you just won’t buy or sell here anymore”.

Pa felt his heart drop, to give away twice what they usually did would make their margins very thin when it came to stocking up for winter but to lose the shop stall completely? That would mean the end of them. But the injustice chafed, could he just let this man get away with outright theft? He clenched his fist, but ultimately turned back to the cart to add to the pile.

“Sam! Get two of those crates of eggs – be careful with ‘em – and put ‘em there by the table!”, Pa called out as he busied himself with a sack of potatoes. He added this to the pile while the sheriff nodded approvingly.

“Atta ghoul”, the man sneered.

Pa had enough, he dropped the other bag he was carrying and stared the man in the eye, “Get this shit yourself!” he said before he could stop himself.

The sheriff straightened and glared at him, “What did you just say?” He approached, menacingly. No sooner had the sheriff raised his hand was he then struck by something or _someone_ and fell into the mud. Pa froze, trying to understand what had happened. Sam had knocked the man over and was now snarling and making noises that no human or ghoul should ever make and was striking him repeatedly wherever they could reach.

“S-Sam!” Pa shouted, “What the hell! Leave him alone! Fucking git’!” he shouted as he pulled them away from the now shouting and red-faced sheriff. Sam struggled against his efforts, but Pa was able to separate the two and pushed the aggressive Sam back towards the market table. The man disappeared behind a swarm of concerned onlookers.

“John!” he heard a familiar voice yell and saw Ma picking her way through the crowd of shocked onlookers.

“Get Sam, and get the cart packed up, we need to leave _now_ ”, Pa yelled back at her, they needed to capitalise on the fact that the attention wasn’t focused on them for the moment.

Ma ran, a flutter of skirts and grey hair, and helped Pa corral Sam towards the cart. No sooner had their quarry left Sam’s eyeline did they begin to calm down. Ma noticed that they had blood around their mouth and hands, had they bitten the man? She instructed Sam to wait in the cart while they harnessed the ponies, there wasn’t enough time to force them to deal with Sam’s admittedly clumsy handling of the animals.

“What happened?” Ma asked, her voice on the verge of trembling. She had started re-harnessing one of the ponies while Pa worked at the other.

“That sheriff, you know how he is. Raised a hand at me and Sam knocked ‘im flat”, Pa answered, “Lord knows, we’re in a bucket of trouble now”. Pa stopped for a moment to think and came to a heavy realisation, “Lord a’mighty, Sam might’a killed ‘im”.

“What about the shopping?” Ma asked, “We still haven’t gotten everything we need”.

John stopped with the ropes and scratched his head, “I don’t want to stick ‘round long enough for them to start goin’ after us. It’ll be a thin year, is all, we’ll make it”, he reassured as he finished with his pony, “We need to go, rather meet the mob on our turf rather than theirs”.

Ma jumped up on the driver’s seat beside Pa and with a quick tut at the ponies, they started moving. A few more signals from Pa sent the animals into a full-on run and Ma had to hold tightly as the rickety wheels caught on rocks and debris on the road underneath. During one of the smoother stretches she hazarded a glance back at Sam, wondering what had driven them to attack the Sheriff. Would she see guilt on their face? Or pleasure? But as she glanced back, there was nothing she could glean from their expression, no sign of what went on inside – if anything truly did with this one. Their expression was blank, the same way they’d look during a lull in the day’s chores.

Sam must’ve sensed her stare, because they raised their head to return her gaze. Still that blank expression, but the eyes told the real story. Clear, attentive, _watching_. The eyes of a dangerous animal that sent chills down her spine. But then Sam smiled and the effect was broken, replaced by the empty smile of one who didn’t understand why they shouldn’t smile. Ma had originally categorised their smile as ‘slightly off but still endearing’, but now all she could feel was an immense sense of unease and after returning Sam’s smile with a rather tense one of her own, she faced forward. Was it better to endure that smile or the piercing predator gaze directed at her that chilled her to her core? _What in God’s name had they brought home?_


	10. Chapter 10

“Well, hello neighbour”, the tall man in the hat said.

Cassie stopped short and evaluated the stranger, the confident way he held his rifle told her all she needed to know: he was not unfamiliar to violence.

“Would you be that Mr. Garvey the robot told me about?” she asked.

“I would”, the man told her, “And who might you be?”

“I used to live here”, Cassie waved at the demolished wreck of a house behind her, “I understand you’ve met my neighbour, Nora?”

“I know who Nora is, but that still doesn’t answer the question of who you are”, Mr. Garvey said, “You’re packing quite a lot of heat for a housewife”.

“Housewife?” Cassie raised her eyebrow, “House-arrest would be more accurate. My name’s Cassie, Cassie Smith”, she waited for his face to fall in recognition, but instead he just tipped his hat.

“Nice to meet ya Cassie, you planning any trouble around here?”

Cassie shrugged, “Today’s my first day topside, haven’t had enough time to get started on trouble yet. Been focusing on understanding what all’s changed”.

“Well, if you’d like to get the news someplace a little more…comfortable”, Garvey gestured at the ruined houses and smelly bomb-shelter, “You’re welcome to join us at the Yellow House down the road. That’s our current base of ops. You should join us; they’ll be cooking up some radstag sausage for lunch”.

Cassie nodded, “Might take you up on that offer after I collect a few things”. Garvey nodded, tipped his hat again, and walked off towards the street.

Now that she was alone, Cassie made her way down the dark steps of the bomb-shelter. She opened another one of the plastic boxes and found it full of flat rectangular plastic bags. The top layer were all clothes, and as she dug deeper, she found a much larger plastic-wrapped object: a plasti-canvas backpack.

She unwrapped it and folded it out, it had plenty of space. She unclipped some of the tools from her belt and placed them inside the outer pockets and clipped the flashlight to one of the loops. She went through all of the crates throwing away the things that had mouldered beyond use, and focusing on balancing usability, practicality, and weight. Exactly like packing her bag for long marches back in Basic. She found a spare pair of boots, and packed away some of the extra shirts, underwear and socks inside the larger compartment. By the time she finished packing the bag, walking with it would be uncomfortable but not undoable.

Cassie had set aside some of the plastic wrapped clothes and finally turned her attention to them. Keeping the Vault-suit on would only attract attention. She replaced it with a more sensible ensemble, a shirt, sweater, light jacket, and tan cargo pants and another pair of the boots. She tore a strip from the Vault-suit and used it to tie her hair back into a tight bun. She made sure the gun and the bullets were accessible and glanced back up at the light streaming down the bomb-shelter’s stairs. Finally, time to leave.

Instead of keeping to the edge of the suburb, Cassie chose to walk down the sidewalk as she made her way towards the source of the smoke. The yellow house was just up ahead, it was one of the few standing structures left. A crude cooking fire was set up on the driveway, attended by a number of ragged-looking figures. The light breeze brought with it the smell of cooking game meat. Approaching from the other side of the house, she recognised the figure of Mr. Garvey and his hat.

“Listen up everybody!” Garvey called to his compatriots by the fire. He waved their attention towards Cassie, “This here is Cassie Smith, she’s gonna be having lunch with us today. She knew Nora back in the day and wants to know what’s new in the Commonwealth”.

“Wait, so you’re another of those ones from the vaults? From before the War?” The woman nearest the fire asked with a suspicious expression. Next to her sat an anxious-looking man who was looking everywhere but directly at her, eyes wide but not actually seeing. Back in the garage area of the ruined house, another man in mechanic’s coveralls approached.

“Yep, that’s me, an actual relic”, Cassie joked as she set her bag down near the campfire. She sat cross-legged in the dirt and smiled at the assembled people hoping they’d see her as nothing but a harmless visitor, “I used to live down the street from here”, she gestured back down the road.

“That must’ve been an experience”, the mechanic said as he came to sit down beside the other two, “Name’s Sturges, that’s Jun”, he pointed at the anxious man, “and that’s Marcy”, he gestured at the suspicious woman, “There’s an old lady here, Mama Murphy, but she’s resting inside at the moment, you’ll meet her later. All of us came out of Quincy”, Jun’s eyes went wide at the mention of the name, “but Preston can tell you more about all that business later”.

“Well, it’s nice to meet all of you”, Cassie said as Garvey arrived and joined them round the fire, laser musket within reach.

Garvey took the metal fork on the grill over the fire and portioned out some of the greasy-looking sausages into some dented mess tins and distributed them amongst the group. Poking into the coals of the fire unearthed some dark oddly-shaped potatoes that were quickly portioned out as well. Cassie poked at the food, the sausage was kind of grainy, and looked very ‘natural’ and the potato was an odd shade, and the texture was different but she couldn’t exactly describe _how_. But if it was good enough for her new ‘friends’ it was good enough for her. The potato wasn’t great, a bit bland, but otherwise manageable, but the sausage was surprisingly good. Someone had really put some care into balancing the gaminess with the seasoning and she found herself enjoying bite after greasy bite.

“Anyways, the Commonwealth”, Garvey said as he finished with his meal, “It’s gotten a bit more dangerous than you might remember. The main players of this wasteland is us”, he gestured at his hat and rifle, “I’m the last Minuteman, we _were_ a faction until recently. There’s those mercs that call themselves the Gunners, watch out for them you might get ‘drafted’ or worse. There’s a buncha raider clans, best stay away from those type of folk, they’d kill their own mothers to get a laugh out of it. You also got the Institute; we don’t know much about them but they’re the ones that made the synths-”.

“Synths?” Cassie asked, now this was a term she hadn’t heard before.

“Synthetic people. Most of their newer ones you can’t tell from a human unless you’re digging round their insides, but you’ll know one of the older gens when you see them, they look like robots. All skeletal and shit. Again, best stay away from the obvious ones, the Institute doesn’t like people poking around their activities”.

“Sounds to me like my best bet is to avoid people entirely”, Cassie joked.

“You’re a quick study”, Garvey remarked, “but seriously, these last two centuries have been hard on folks, there’s no trust in these parts anymore. Us with the Minutemen, we tried to change that but it seems to me that society ain’t quite ready for us yet. Just be careful who you trust and what you say to people and you should be able to work out the rest”.

Cassie nodded, “So how’d you meet Nora?”

“We were holed up in that museum in Concord”, Garvey explained, “buncha raiders had us pinned, guessed they saw us as easy pickings. We were planning to hold out as long as possible, even overnight if we had to. I’ll admit, it was looking bad for us, when Nora came out of nowhere and scared the shit out of us. Turns out, she’d known a back way into the museum that wasn’t covered and managed to help us sneak out of there. She guided us from there to here, then left. Something happened to her son, apparently, we sent her off to Diamond City”.

“Diamond City, where’s that?” Cassie asked. If Nora was headed there, maybe Cassie could catch up to her. Nora would need someone with a steady head on their shoulders if things had gotten this dangerous. Perhaps she could offer her assistance with the whole missing son thing.

“You know Boston?”, Sturges piped up, finally breaking his silence, “It’s over there, built in the old stadium, they call it the Green Jewel, you can’t miss it”.

“Thanks”, Cassie replied. Boston would be a long way from here, by foot especially, so she might as well get started moving as soon as possible.

“Well, thank you for the lunch, but I think it’s best I got moving”, Cassie said as she returned the mess tin to Garvey.

“Leaving so soon?” He asked as he accepted it, “If you need some more time to prepare, you can probably stay…”

Cassie shot another glance at the ragged group assembled around the fire. They all looked exhausted, that familiar shell-shocked look in their eyes and she wondered what sort of hell they had been through to get them there. They sure as hell needed the help, but Nora- Nora was only a lawyer, lost in a strange dangerous land. Of everyone Cassie knew and had met, Nora needed her help more. Time to head towards Boston.


End file.
